#184: Dinner Planning and Meal-making Advice for Mother Runners
Mother runner and cookbook author Jenny Rosenstrach is a blur, running here and there as she fixes a family dinner.
The alternate title for this running podcast could be: Countless Parallels between Running and Cooking Dinner for Your Family. Sarah and Dimity welcome Jenny Rosenstrach, the founding editor of a fantabulous website called Dinner: A Love Story and the author of two bestselling books, Dinner: The Playbook and Dinner: A Love Story. As she does in her books, this mother runner serves up a heaping helping of tips for making family dinners as pleasant—and tasty—as possible. Find out what Operation 30 Days is, and how this adventure helped open up the minds of her two daughters to trying (and sometimes even devouring!) new foods. Great advice abounds in this packed podcast, including the important reminder to not let busy-ness get in the way of running—or cooking.
If Dimity’s promo for the Stride through the Holidays Challenge piqued your interest, here’s how to jump in.
#AMRinSaucony – Ten Running Challenges Starting with Letter “T”
I feel like a hot mess, as they say. I’ve had no shortage of stuff to occupy me since we last spoke by blog post. My parents are coming to visit at the end of the week. The house is a first class mess. There has been work stuff. Baby Teething stuff. (Pro tip: Don’t go shopping for Halloween candy when you’re stressed. Bag of Twix, anyone?)
It’s a familiar story. Stuff going on. Life – it happens. However, the number one thing that occupies my headspace lately is I signed up for an ultra – a 50K the first weekend of November.
Wow, I signed up for this thing in June? I think it’s safe to say post-natal hormones were partially to blame.
And I’m kind of freaking out about it.
This combined with some other junk going on right now is making it difficult to express thoughts in a coherent way. So my blog post this month is a list. Because lists make me feel like I’m doing something productive, like I’m in control. And in an effort to not go mad, here’s my list of Things. These things all start with the letter T. Why T? Because it’s Tuesday. There are also ten things. Hopefully you sense a theme.
- Terror
Maybe that’s a strong word. How about trepidation? Serious, unflagging trepidation I’m not going to be able to do this. The course is a 12.5K lap x 4. While that does make it easier to “chunk it up,” as SBS would say, I’m a little worried it will become tedious. [Editor’s note: Let’s give Amy bonus points for another “T” word!] - Training
I felt really well-trained for my marathon in October (Twin Cities! A PR! Thank you, Find Your Strong Challenge Peeps!), and then The Wall I didn’t hit on the course materialized in my life as exhaustion, sickness, and an affinity for spending my early mornings under the covers instead of running in the dark before work. (Daylight, I miss you.) There was a time in my life when I envied those gifted to be professional athletes. But I don’t anymore. I think I’ve figured out my limit for serious training maxes out at about the five-month mark. Physically, emotionally – I’m spent. The last four weeks since Twin Cities have been seriously low in mileage due to a number of reasons: personal illness, schedule conflicts, and aches and pains I’m trying to baby as much as possible so they don’t become bigger deals. I’m just trying to get to the starting line right now. - Taper
Taper madness is a real thing, as a lot of you know. I’m suddenly having a gear crisis and agonizing over every little clothing and footwear detail. The sock that suddenly doesn’t feel right. The strap of the bra that never chafed before but now leaves red streaks. Long sleeves? Jacket? OMG, IS MY HYDRATION PACK GOING TO FREEZE? It has been a struggle to resist buying ALL THE THINGS. - Terrain
I know from experience that trails (hey, another T-word!) are more difficult for running than roads. Or let’s put it this way: Trail running requires so much more of me that I can’t just tune out, lest I trip and fall flat on my face (been there, done that). I’ve put in 90% of my work this season on asphalt or concrete in preparation for the surfaces I knew I’d be running in Twin Cities. When I pore over my run statistics after a jaunt on the trail system, I can tell I’m working a lot harder, despite the slower pace.
Visited the Church of the Trail Run this past Sunday.
- Tooth: I lost part of my tooth yesterday biting into an energy chew. Seriously. The Over-40 fueling/dental struggle is real.
But then I think of the other Ts I should be focused on.
- Tenacity
I have it, if nothing else, and if there ever was a time to call on it, it’s now. - Track (record)
Of gutting it out when s**t gets real (hard), in life and on the course. - Time
I don’t have a time goal set for this other than finishing in the allotted time and not getting pulled off the course, either via a course official with a stopwatch or a medical team with a stretcher. No worries! No need to race. In fact, a new distance means an instant PR. Bonus!
My Saucony Ride 7s on a perfect fall day last week.
- Thrill
Being a part of the marathon challenge group and hearing about first-timers experiencing their first marathon brought back memories, for sure. It’s been 11 years since I’ve had that thrill – the anticipation of the unknown and the joy of completing a new-to-me challenge.It’s one of the reasons I signed up for this 50K, this new, crazy distance: to have that feeling again. - Thanks.
Finally, I am thankful I am able to do the things I do, to run the miles I run. I may have no idea how this will all shake down, but at the very least, I’ve been promised a lot of good food and awesome BAMR company (and a few days away from home – a real ladies’ weekend!).
Me and a few of the BAMRs I’ll have fun with for this thing.
And even though it doesn’t start with T, I have been promised #ThereWillBeAppleCrisp.
Have you experienced any thrills while running lately? A new distance? A PR? A new running friend who helps you tackle those daily miles?
10 Reasons I’m Thankful For Running
Laces of gratitude.
As we round the corner into November and the month where we focus on giving thanks*, we’re pulling out this beauty for revival. Because it’s as all true as it was over two years ago. *We try to give thanks 365 days, but some days are better than others.
1. Fresh shoes and a few miles can lift me up like nothing else.
2. Downhills. Love the real ones when I can just chill and cruise and head down. And I also appreciate the virtual downhill: single runs and longer spells when running just feels lighter and less onerous than I anticipated. I try to savor every gravity-gifted moment in each situation.
3. Endorphins. God bless every last one of them.
4. The deep, wide cardiovascular foundation that consistent running provides me; I may never be able to do 10 good burpees/push-ups/pull-ups in a row, but I can run 10 miles. And that’s enough for me.
5. Just this picture. Running brings such energy, strength, joy, laughter, life.
Air under both feet: just as any good running pic should show.
6. That running is the only time when I can fart and air snot with abandon. And nobody cares—or at least pretends not to.
7. Although the calendar designates the seasons, my running wardrobe defines them. The first day in a year that legitimately calls for long tights, capris, or shorts, I always feel fresh and new when I head out.
8. Running reflects so many life lessons—goal setting, hard work, dsicipline, patience, persistance, and other annoying phrases that pop up on generic conference rooms—that when speedbumps knock me down in other areas of my life, I take solace in the fact that running is pure and simple. I get out of running exactly what I put in, and nothing—not politics, nepotism, financial incentives, and other annoying practices that show up too often in the news—can ever change that.
9. The way running prioritizes the rest of my life. My mind and spirit demand that I run, so I have to tend the rest of the details—sleep, diet, overall self-care—that allow me to get out there mile after mile. And the repeated miles, put in often before the sun comes up, means that all the truly little things that are camoflagued as really big and important issues can’t rock my world as much. I’m too wiped to deal. Plus, by the time I lace up the next morning, they’re usually history.
Running: a bond that rivals Super Glue.
10. And this picture too. How running bonds women in mystifying, intimate ways. The friendships built over miles are some of the most beautiful I’ve had. And the most beautiful thing is, you meet another runner, you’ve met a sure friend.
Why are you thankful for running?
#183: The Dirt on Trail Running
Author Lisa Jhung restores her mental balance and her happiness quotient on the trail
In this Trail Running 101 episode, Dimity and Sarah are joined by mother trail runner Lisa Jhung to talk all about off-road running. A mom of two sons, Lisa is the author of Trailhead: The Dirt on All Things Trail Running, and she freely admits she “craves” dirt, crunchy rocks, grass, sand, and any natural surface. As in her easy-to-read book, on this show, Lisa makes clear trail running does not equal ultra-running. From how to react to bears and bobcats to how to find local trails, the three gals break down the intimidation factor of hitting the ground running. Lisa talks about the importance of having “all senses on” while on the trail, as well as the mental benefits of this approach.
In the intro, learn why Sarah and her younger daughter are $7.56 richer. And, as promised, here is the Eventbrite listing for Nashville mother runner party on November 5, 2015, as well as a link to all AMR events.
Two Voices, One Marathon: The Sport of Spectating
While Heather and Marianne, the two long-distance BRFs who took on their first marathon, have recapped their races, two voice have yet to be heard from: Tamara and Abbigail, two BRFs who took on owning their marathon spectating experience. Sounds like a breeze, right? Well…
When Heather asked if we would be interested in supporting her as she and Marianne ran their first marathon in Corning, NY we immediately and enthusiastically responded, “Yes!!…well… we need to check with husbands (both working all weekend), find babysitters (three kids each), look at work/volunteer schedules, consider Cub Scouts/cross country/lacrosse commitments that weekend…but…Yes!”
We had both spectated a marathon before but this time we didn’t want to just finish.
We wanted to own it.
We developed a plan spanning several weeks that outlined specific tasks leading up to and including the event.
Our plan had three distinct phases: Preparation, Implementation, Relaxation. The PIR plan.
Everyone carb-loaded the night before the big event.
PREPARATION
Step one: Securing lodging. In the AMR training plans, some workouts are designated with a coffee cup, which means the workout can be skipped if need be. But for Abbie—and anybody else who wanted to sleep on a bed and use an indoor bathroom—this ‘coffee cup’ task was mandatory. She was diligent in her efforts and did an internet search using 5 sites, repeating every 3 days with 2-3 emails to the group outlining the pros and cons of various options
Step two: Creating signs. Signs were a “water bottle” workout; mandatory, can’t be skipped. Brightly colored poster board was obvious but the messages? Tricky. They needed to be eye catching while imparting both humor and inspiration. After several brainstorming sessions, we settled on a Ryan Gosling “Hey Girl” theme, feeling that it conveyed just the right tone: like “Hey Girl, you look hot and sweaty, just like I like it.” Difficulties included acute marker fatigue, penmanship and proper word alignment.
Hey Girl.
Step Three: Getting ready to track runners. We were stressed the night before because there was so much to think about.We stayed up late plotting our racers’ paces (thank you pace calculator!) and actual times they would be at specific miles and the travel time in between. This required a basic understanding of time and math. (Math!)
IMPLEMENTATION
Step One: Transporting runners. At 5:30 a.m., we ignited our implementation phase with a ride to the bus loading area that would then transport them to the race start. At one point Marianne wanted to check the bus schedule – I, Tamara, shouted out, “Page 18 in your program! Page 18!!” Abbie and I high-fived each other. This was our first real test and we passed with flying colors.
Step Two: Finding runners. With our runners on their way, we were on our own. We tried not to show our nerves to each other, not wanting to affect the other’s performance, but it was pretty obvious. Abbie had a FULL cup of coffee — instead of her usual half — and we both went to the bathroom twice before setting off. After several initial missteps (including heading east on route 86 instead of west…WEST!), we arrived at our first location.
Our relief was short-lived. We had only just parked near the turn at mile 5 when a gruff man with a round bearded face knocked on our window and told us we were on private property. We were told to move. We nodded solemnly at each other as Abbie put the keys back in the ignition. We WILL overcome this obstacle. Let’s work the problem.
We found a closed ice cream store where other spectators had parked about a half-mile up the road. When the clock ticked 8:15, we got ourselves in position.
Step Three: Cheering for runners. We spotted the leaders approaching fast and began the real work of spectating. Abbie is a professional and drew from a previous history of cheerleading in high school. I am a master of the single handed whistle, which I liberally employed. We gave it everything we had.
Abbie gets in position.
Step Four: Document runners. When Heather approached, we cranked it up a notch. After she passed, we realized we failed to obtain a picture for her husband, who anxiously awaiting a visual update. NOOOOOOO!! We were devastated, but we dusted ourselves off and carried on.
When Marianne approached, we were ready. Pictures obtained. Check. Encouragement yelled. Check. Signage engaged. Check.
We can DO this!
Step Five: Repeat. Car rides were a workshop in multitasking: refuel (granola bars, apples and delicious pumpkin spiced almonds) while driving (Abbie), determining course direction (Tamara), utilizing both traditional means (paper marathon map) and non-traditional (iPhone). Abbie had to make an emergency bathroom stop, but fortunately we found a convenient rest stop and little precious time was lost.
Tamara plots their next move.
The next few hours passed in a blur — insert slow-mo movie montage featuring stinging palms from clapping, chapped lips, hoarse voices and arm fatigue from sign holding. We hit a wall around mile 18 when I accidentally yelled out, “Hang in there!” instead the more appropriate catch phrases of “You got this!,” “Good job runners!,” or a well timed, “Way to go!” I immediately felt the shame of my mistake.
Our proudest moment was when a runner shouted out, “You girls are everywhere.” We looked at each other with pleasure. Exactly sir. Exactly.
Going old school.
When Heather and then Marianne crossed the finish line, we were thrilled for them — and for us! What an amazing accomplishment! It had been over five hours of intense spectating but we did it. Abbie and I headed home with heads held a little higher.
RELAXATION
Step One: Refuel. We decided initiate the last part of our plan — relaxation — while we ate some of the leftover pasta from dinner the night before. I think we earned it.
Step Two: Review. Next time, we’ll plan better and bring thicker poster board (the wind can be brutal), a cow bell (more noise!!), and a wide mouthed jar (for emergency bathroom breaks). Learn from our oversights.
What have you learned from being a spectator? Any tips or insights?
Melanie’s Marathon: You’ve Got This
Let’s play put yourself in somebody else’s shoes for a second. Put yourself in Melanie’s shoes.
You ran the New York City Marathon, your first, last year in 4:03. You can’t wait to get back there—you’re from New Jersey—to see your family and friends and see if you can go sub-4 hours. You don’t get in via the lottery, so you decide to start raising funds for Sharsheret, Jewish non-profit focused on young women who have breast cancer or are at risk of contracting it, to get an entry. You’ve had enough friends and family be touched by the disease, so this is a perfect opportunity.
You’re training and you’re training—and occasionally, you whiz by recovering-from-injury Dimity on a run. She asks how it’s going, and it’s all going so well. You’re feeling strong, raising money and thinking about the Big Apple.
Until August 22, when you find a lump in your breast. About 10 days later, it’s confirmed as breast cancer.
You go look into all the options, have tough discussions with your family of five, ask your team of doctors so many questions, your head is spinning. And while you’re focused on this relatively tiny lump that has taken a huge bite out of your life and spirit, you can’t stop running. And a small part of you can’t stop thinking about New York City. Maybe you’ll run 26.2, then deal with the lump.
New BRFs thanks to the NYC Marathon: Laurel (left) and Melanie.
So you keep training. Training with your new mother runner friend Laurel, who you randomly friended one day, pre-diagnosis, while running in Denver. Laurel was shut out of the 2012 New York City Marathon becuase of Hurricane Sandy, but she happened to be wearing her 2012 NYC shirt one morning while you were both out for a run. At a stoplight, you stepped out of your comfort zone, introduced yourself, found out she was also training for 2015 NYC and ta-da: an awesome BRF relationship was born.
You run together on Wednesdays for a bit, then switch gears and run long every Sunday. The way those runs are going, you’re bound to definitely go under 4 hours when you trade the thin air of Colorado for the sea level of First Avenue.
One of many fans—and signs—along the route.
It’s all good, except that breast cancer. The small lump is barking in your brain.
You decide on a double mastectomy, and get a date. October 20. Less than two weeks before the New York City Marathon, which you definitely won’t run.
You look for other local marathons, but they don’t feel right. You’ve been training since June, though, and you feel primed. You need to get this 26.2 out of your system before you undergo surgery and all the recovery it demands. You want to spend time with friends and your community, doing what you love. And you want to be distracted by all the details of what lies ahead: no driving, reconstruction, more screening, to name a few.
So you decided to create your own marathon. Melanie’s Marathon. And run it two days before you undergo your double mastectomy.
Melanie’s husband kept everybody posted on her times and where-abouts; she nailed her spreadsheet times, not surprisingly.
You pull out Map My Run and combine some of your favorite training routes to total 26.2 miles, with a not-insignificant 800 feet of climbing. You rally your village: girlfriends, previous and present coworkers, acquaintances from your Temple, mom friends with similarly aged kids, and random mother runners you picked up on the street. You send out an email, asking them to cheer, manage an aid station, or run.”I’m planning to keep a 9-10 minute pace,” you advise people so they make the right choice on how to support you, “This is not a walk, stroll, or a bike ride.” As the pieces fall into place, you create a mighty Google doc that would make spreadsheet nerds beam.
You have Sharsheret overnight your race shirt. You get profiled on the 10 p.m. news.
Josh, traning for the Dublin marathon this weekend, ran his last longish taper run with Melanie’s Marathon.
And then it’s 6 a.m. on Sunday morning, and a small posse of people are there to send you off and to run with you. It’s dark and a little chilly, but within a few miles, the sunrise hits deep orange, rich pink, beyond blue and you’re warming up, like the day. Mile 5, Mile 8, Mile 14. They tick by, almost like you’re floating. It almost feels too soon to hit the aid station at mile 18, where it’s a serious party, rivaling most aid stations at organized races. Nuun, GU, water, orange slices. Plus, good signs and high fives and hugs.
So much positive energy, you want to cry, overwhelmed by the physical effort and the outpouring of love. But you don’t. You tell your co-runners what you’ve often tell yourself on solo runs. I can cry or I can breathe, you tell them, and I think, I choose to live.
The crew around mile 15.5.
Between 20 and 21, you’re running with two mother runners who are huffing and puffing to keep up with your low 9-minute miles. You guys are rockstars, you tell them, Thanks for doing this. One mother runner—not naming names, but she’s kinda tall—keeps thinking, you are the rockstar. In fact, a few miles before, she said, before considering her language, “I hope you know what a fuc***g awesome force you are, Melanie.” (She apologizes if it was a bit abrupt, but she was in her uncensored running state and, quite frankly, in total awe.)
Mile 22, there’s another aid station party, but you have a few blisters forming and you’re feeling the miles. (You ran 20 miles last week with Laurel, her last long run before NYC, so your taper has been minimal.) You’ve spent all week making the spreadsheet, driving the route, organizing the troops. You’re ready to be done. You cast back to that day you were diagnosed, then forward to all the miles still to come as you recover, heal, return to running, worry about breast cancer through months, years, your daughter.
Then you think, 4.2 miles? I’ve so got this. And you, surrounded by loved ones, continue to run.
Yep, you’ve got this, Melanie. Many more happy healthy, strong miles. xo
If you want to donate to Melanie’s fund, you can do so here. (At first she wanted to raise $10,000, but then she saw that others had passed that mark. She wants to lead the pack and get to $18,000. “I’m a little bit competitive,” she says.)